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Monday, March 25, 2013

For the love of God make a damn decision.

I was going to post a blog about pee, but my favorite mom blogger beat me to it and wrote about poop. So here is a little story about my youngest. The boy cannot make a quick decision to save his life! It all started at conception....

I wake up just to run to the bathroom for a morning of sickness. I just KNOW that I'm pregnant and immediately make a Walgreens run for a cart full of pregnancy tests, pre-natal vitamins, ovulation tests, (just in case, even though I'm sure I am) and a giant triple chocolate muffin. I get back and take my pregnancy test. I'm pregnant!! Yes!!! I take another to confirm. (you know, like how when you sign up for crap you don't really want online but only did it so you can get to the crap you really want but don't need online and they make you enter your email address twice to confirm it's right so they can send you daily notifications for crap you don't want but you're too lazy to hit the unsubscribe button so for the next four years you complain about stupid emails you constantly get from whatever website sells aloe infused socks, which I would want, incidentally, so not a good example?) ( and yes, that WAS a run on sentence). Where was I? Oh yeah, pregnant. So I take a second "confirmation" test. Not pregnant. What the fuck??! So I take another one. Pregnant. And I take another. Still pregnant. Well I hope the three that said pregnant are correct because I'm out of tests at this point, besides the ovulation tests, but I have a strong feeling that I'm already past that. Can you take pregnancy tests back to the store and tell them one didn't work right? ( you can with lip stick, just a thought) So the negative one was obviously a dud, which is scary to think about, because what if I had just bought one? Anyway, I wave it around and shake it like a damn magic 8 ball to see if it would change it's mind; nothing.

The birth of my little fire ball: I call him this because he gave me the WORST heartburn. As I'm getting ready to jump into my cozy bed to sleep in my sitting upright position, I walk through the kitchen to turn lights off and lock doors, and here it comes. OUCH!! That fucking hurt. OUCH!! That hurt even more! Stop that! He would decide to make his entrance at the most inconvenient time. Off to the hospital we go. Scream-sobbing and climbing the seats all the way there, I finally make it into a room begging for a pain killer drip on the way. Nope, I'm going to shove my hand all the way up your hooha first and make you extremely uncomfortable. Great. 3 centimeters, this will take NO time at all. Right, moms?? An hour later, still 3 Centimeters. 5 hours later, you guessed it. 3 centimeters. Hey, I haven't even gotten the pleasure to meet you in person yet and you're already being a complete wanker face?? And NOW you decide to crawl back up there and take a nap?? Get the hell out here. If I'm awake, you're awake. (Just realizing what I did there) He beat me with my own stick, because for the next, oh... four years and counting, when he's awake, I'm awake. Gaaaghhh!!!

You'd think since babies just poop, sleep and eat for the first few months, he'd be finished with the decision making process for a bit. No, not him.
"Hey, mom. instead of deciding between # 1 or #2 and making it easy on you, as your still exhausted from childbirth, I'm going pee in my own face and watch you freak out. Then while your lysoling my face, (I know it's not a real word) I'm going to projectile poop ALL OVER you! Hahahaha! You need a shower anyway. And, BTW, I'm going to scream now because I want my OTHER binky. And in another 5 minutes, I'm going to scream again because I want my other binky back, but I'll wait til you jump in the shower first and get all soapy before I do it. And since I just pooped all over the place, I'm going to be hungry again, so I really won't want the binky at all. I don't know what I want. You'll have to figure it out"

At four years old, it does get a lot better, because they can talk and tell you what they want. NOT. Hahaha! Gotcha!
"Hey, Alex would you like Peanut Butter and Jelly or Ravioli for lunch?"
"I don't know."
"Well, which is it? Those are your choices."
"I don't know."
"Ok. Ravioli it is."
"I don't want ravioli."
"So do you want Peanut Butter and Jelly?"
"So what would you like to have for lunch?"
"I don't know."

"Hey, Alex it's bedtime. Which stuffed animal would you like to sleep with?"
"That was too easy." But I leave the room anyway.
"Mom!!!! I want my giraffe, and my doggy and my other doggy and my bear and my bigger doggy and my baby doggy and my octopus."
Knew it.
"Mommy, I don't want that doggy, I want the other one. Not that one either, the other one. and my baby giraffe."
"For the love of God."

"Hey Alex, go get dressed so we can go to the store."

On that note, it's bedtime now.

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Tuesday, March 5, 2013

10 things I REALLY want for my birthday, because 5 isn't nearly enough.

I  hope I'm not asking too much, and I hope my better half is reading this too. I hope, most of all, that my fellow Super Moms help me out here.

1. I want a clean freaking house. Like, so clean I could lick off of the floors. And walls and ceiling. I know what you're thinking, "But you should be able to already, what with all the ketchup, jelly, butter, cracker crumbs, stuck on cereal, ranch dressing, syrup, milk, juice and everything else that gets stuck to the floor." In that, you would be correct. I COULD lick the floor, ceiling, and walls, except that I've been banned from WebMD, and well, even thinking about what kind of growth and movement happening on the floors gives me the heebie geebies. I mean, for real, there could be an actual town developing down there. Their own Pride Parade and everything! Gaaaaaghhhhhhhhhh! I just want a clean and ORGANIZED house. I know it's probably too much to ask. It's taken me 7 years and counting to organize my house. (post children, of course)

2. A vacuum I can easily use on two flights of stairs. Does this contraption even exist? Yeah, yeah, I know vacuums that you use on the stairs exist, but not easy ones. I want one that really picks up. One that won't require an extra trip to my chiropractor after a Saturday cleaning rampage. You always get tricked on the infomercials too. OMG! I ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO HAVE THIS!! I would also like for my kids to come with a switch that can be flipped on when it's time to clean up and vacuum. Instead of dropping extremely small objects (legos, hot wheels, dice, crayon tips) on the floor that I can't pick up with any vacuum in the universe, I'd like a switch that turns my own  boys into rabid little vacuums.

3. I WANT TO SLEEP IN! Remember pre - children when you were able to sleep in until Noon?? I want that back! I'm not greedy,but I just want it for ONE day. One day where I can chill in bed and watch TV and eat chips and relax and not worry about all the things my brats are probably destroying or eating. Mostly eating. Mainly eating bags of marshmallows. What happened to the good ole days where you got to nurse your hangover for the whole day until it was time to go out and drink again?

4. New dishes. I made Angie a list of three things I really wanted for my birthday and this was the first thing on it. I want dishes and glasses that match. I just want things to match. I want to be able to drink out of something that doesn't have a giant picture of spider-man on the side of it.

5. A 5 year supply of red wine. I don't know how I haven't been using this excuse for years already, but its totally anti-aging. I can really see myself becoming addicted though, like botox. Yeah, you read it right. Botox. I'm just vain enough to get addicted to a products like these, so if you see me in an AA meeting, just look the other way. 

6. Dinner with Angie. Steak or Seafood. Somewhere fancy schmancy, quiet, elegant. Just somewhere you're not allowed to bring kids. I want to be able to tell my kids that they are not allowed to go; that it's a grown-up place. So that I'm not lying to them, and don't have to feel like a piece of crappola and be like, "Ha Ha. I get to go out to eat and you get chicken nuggets.. Na Na Na Na Boo Boo."

7. A night out on the town. As parents, we  fall asleep on the couch going through Facebook watching all of our friends get drunk in public. I want to get drunk in public too. I want to sing terrible karaoke, and dance, and pee in an alley. Wait.... too much? Okay, okay. But it would be nice to dress up in one of my girly dresses and find a good local band to rock out to. Like a good cover band of sorts, like one that plays the cool mom music, like Silverchair, and Merle Haggard, and Hole. Not this Britney Spears and Nicki Minaj crap.

8. I want to be the Awesome Super Mom for a day. I want to NOT be a huge billboard that has "public humiliation" written across my forehead when his friends come over. I want him to say to his friends, "Dudes! This is my mom. She is the COOLEST mom on this planet. No, wait. In this UNIVERSE!"  I want his friends to think I'm totally radical too. I think they already do, but I think my kid is trying to get in to their heads. (In case it's not already obvious enough, I'm referring to Paul) At this juncture in our relationship, I am not allowed to stand at the bus stop, or walk him into the school. I get to pull up to the side as he jumps out before I even come to a complete stop. What is with the kids these days? Has it always been this way? Was I like this to my mom or my aunt or their friends? I want to be Super Mom while I sit on the couch and eat whatever goes with chocolate. I want to be Super Mom without having to do anything to earn it.

9. I want the clock to stop for a whole month. Not all day. Just the morning. I want to have time to get the kids dressed, and breakfast eaten, lunch packed, dressed like they didn't just dress themselves (because Mom doesn't have the time or energy to dress them), and get them off to school and preschool. I need to clock to stop mainly for me though. Every time I get my hair done, they show me this super cute, SUPER quick hairstyle. I think, "Awesome! Thank you so much for the hair styling tip! I can totally do this one!!" Until the next morning when it's time to do my hair. "F*** it, I'll try again tomorrow." And it never happens. I want the time and energy to do my hair every morning. I want to paint my nails and spend a little extra time on my self as well. 

10. World Peace. Come on, you can't ask for a  list of birthday gifts without adding this one in. I really do want it though. Maybe sometime I'll write a controversial blog about this topic. Not today though... not today.

If you like these a little bit and want to read more, or if you don't, feel free to comment below. For more quotes, funny things my kids do and say, and funny photos, go like my Facebook page, The Dirt Machines

Monday, March 4, 2013

Why we will never eat at another fancy pancy restaurant until our kids MOVE THE F*** OUT.

On Angie's birthday we went to Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. Right?? I could hardly believe it either. We get there and valet and walk into this majestic castle of a place and as we walk to our destination I cant remember stepping on a single crayon or peanut shell or spoon or child throwing a fit in the middle of the walkway. As a matter of fact there wasn't a single kid there! We are offered four different water choices! uh... city water... and a glass of wine. (yeah right like I'm going to pay for water I'm not even going to drink water. We have  no kids!) We were definitely taking advantage of this night of adulthood. The food was fabulous and 500 of  our personal waiters were charming and we had a very quiet expensive dinner. Just the two of us! I still can't believe it. Especially after this fiasco...

Activity free night. Brought to you by schools that shove sports, PTO meetings, Fundraisers and homework down our throats every night of the week and weekend actually wants us to take a day off from it all. Spend quality time with our families, they say. It will be relaxing, they say. Take your kiddos to a restaurant that leaves giant buckets of loose peanuts on the table and serves unlimited amounts of bread, they say. All right. 

As we are being seated at the restaurant, Paul makes a point to touch and contaminate every seat on the way to ours. Both of them fight over who gets to sit by who (when we all know that Paul sits next to me and Alex sits next to Angie) Its always been this way but its like your side of the bed. You know which is your side of the bed. It always has been , but every once in awhile you try out the other side... just in case. Anyway.. once Paul realizes he is once again going to choose to sit next to me, he notices the bread and butter in the middle of the table. There goes any chance of getting them to eat the meal the cooks in the back just slaved over for these rotten mongrels. ( I feel like I have to keep reiterating how much I LOVE LOVE LOVE my snot rockets) They drive me absolutely bat sh*t crazy at least once a day. For a split second at the restaurant Angie and I actually thought about hiding around the corner when the kids came out of the restroom just to see how they'd react if they thought we had left them. Just for fun. Our fun. To watch them run around in sheer panic. Just for a minute. Now I'm wishing I could go back and bring our childish thoughts to life.

I got WAY off subject. Now just because there is music playing in the background of the restaurant and they serve peanuts, do my grubby little dirt machines think they have to speak 746 octaves higher to be heard. Holy Crappola! We can hear you and so can Jesus. And of course, after all the peanuts, bread and helping themselves to our food, they are so full after one bite of what looks to be a hot dog, and one bite of a MINI cheeseburger. Wanna guess how we end our night? You guessed it. Two kids come home covered in butter and peanuts and complain about being hungry 38 seconds after they walk through the front door.

And since I'm not allowed to wear my fat pants in public, I'm sitting here writing this in the only jeans that fit (until I eat), unbuttoned. You're welcome. But now it's time for me to get into my fat pants, sit on the couch and listen to my 4 year old come down stairs once every 2.4 seconds to ask for a drink, and to pee, and to eat, and to tell us that his finger hurts, and that his two week old scab is bleeding, and that we have the TV up too loud, and that hes scared, and that hes hot, and that hes cold until he cries himself to sleep.

If you like these a little bit and want to read more, or if you don't, feel free to comment below. For more quotes, funny things my kids do and say and funny photos, go like my Facebook page, The Dirt Machines